Page 42 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
He straightened and strode to the far right-hand side of the window, staring toward an outcropping of rock.
“I own a ship,” he said. “One of my first major purchases before Drumvagen. Her name was originally theSally Ryan,but I changed it.”
His eyes sparkled and his grin was so wide she could only ask, “What did you change it to?”
“ThePrincess,” he said smiling at her. “The figurehead was redone as well. It resembles you.”
“Me?”
He didn’t answer, merely raised his hand.
She followed where he pointed. Above the rocks in the distance stretched a series of tall poles or denuded tree trunks. No, the longer she stared, the more she was able to tell they were masts.
“It’s Kinloch Harbor,” he said. “Where thePrincessis berthed. If you look to the right, you can see her mast. It’s one of the tallest.”
Had he named his ship for her? Is that how he thought of her? A princess? Many people had once held a similar opinion. They saw her father’s wealth and it blinded them to anything else. She should tell him the wealth was all gone, translated into houses, farms, and land to go to Jeremy.
Above all, she should tell him why she was here. Would he understand? Or only be angry at her duplicity? Whatever his reaction, it might be easier to live with herself if she were honest.
Being in London and thinking of him was easier and simpler than standing so close to him. After last night, she felt like a traitor, the worst kind of manipulator. She drew back, the words on the tip of her tongue.
“I wanted to show you this place,” he said, silencing her confession. “The moment I met you, I wanted to show you Drumvagen.”
“Was the house built where it was because of the grotto?” she asked, trailing her fingers over the stone of the sill. How smooth it felt, almost like glass beneath her fingers.
“I don’t know,” he said, glancing at her. “I never spoke to the original owner or architect. But I would have built a house here because of it, I think.”
“For nefarious purposes? Like smuggling?”
He glanced around. “It seems the place for it, doesn’t it? Perhaps patriots used it to hide arms during the last rebellion.”
She knew little Scottish history, and when she admitted that to him, his chuckle caught her unawares.
“I think the history of America and that of Scotland are similar. Not on the same timeline, but in our craving for freedom from England.”
“Yet we Americans now gravitate to England,” she said. “Is it the same with you Scots?”
“Perhaps it is,” he said. “Or else I would not have given Ceana a season in London. We would have remained in Edinburgh.”
She would never have seen him, never known him, and wouldn’t be standing here now. She’d never been one to give much credence to fate, but she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something to it.
No other man had ever made her feel the way he had. She couldn’t imagine giving herself to someone else. Or experiencing such freedom and joy in the act.
“You didn’t seem enamored of London society,” she said.
He’d been different from the beginning, a little rougher, a little less refined. No, that wasn’t it. The other men she’d met in London had been too effeminate, too caring about how long their tea was steeped or the cut of their coat and the shine on their shoes. He was a man among men. A man with an accent and a separateness that marked him as unusual.
Did all Scots have that sense of independence?
He’d stood on the sidelines and watched others with a light in his eyes that told her he found most of what he saw to be ridiculous. A half smile played around his mouth; his stance was relaxed.
He’d never tried to belong in the drawing rooms of London. He rarely spoke to others, aloof and somewhat detached. He did not join the rest of the men in their entertainments. He was polite for his sister’s sake, and present so that Ceana could have her season.
“You were a magnificent dancer,” she said. “I was surprised.”
His laughter echoed through the grotto.
“That’s because you were my partner,” he said. “I don’t remember dancing with anyone as effortlessly.”
